


The Life (and Afterlife) of the Radio Demon

by littledemon66



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor-centric, Child Abuse, Gen, Minor Character Death, Self-Harm, alastor's parents weren't the best, basically my headcanons of Alastor's whole life, but with self harm added, take away the SH and this is pretty much how i see Alastor, this took almost 4 months btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23656960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledemon66/pseuds/littledemon66
Summary: An unhealthy habit that stemmed from Alastor's childhood sticks with him into adulthood and into death.AKA cane fic
Relationships: Alastor & Alastor's Shadow (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor & Angel Dust & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), and the radiodust is in the crack ending, but both ships are sorta there but it depends on how you look at it
Comments: 14
Kudos: 139





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SilverFliesInBlueSugar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFliesInBlueSugar/gifts).



**New Orleans, Louisiana - 1911**

Alastor was about ten years old when he first began to realize that his parents weren’t the perfect parents that he thought they were. When he went to school, his classmates sometimes complained that their parents yelled at them. He didn’t understand at first. He didn’t understand why they complained. Wasn’t it normal for parents to yell and hit their children when they did something wrong? It was the parent’s right to discipline their child.

After a while, he realized that no one else’s parents hurt them the same way his parents hurt him. No one else’s parents beat them with a cane when they accidentally knocked something over or talked too loud. No one else was yelled at for coming home a few minutes late. Did that mean his parents were wrong? But they were never wrong. They always told him that they were always right and that the perfect child always listened to their parents.

One day, the confusion hurt his head too much, so Alastor decided to ask his mother about it. She would know if there was a difference in their household compared to others. He found a day where his father was out for the night, likely drinking, and his mother was in a good mood. She was smiling as Alastor approached her.

“Mother,” Alastor kept his voice at the correct volume. “Are we different from other families? I keep hearing stories from the other kids and they never seem to be the same as me. Their parents never… discipline their children the same way you and Father do.”

His mother’s smile faltered, giving him a sense of insecurity. Had he worded his question wrong? He didn’t use words like “beat” or “hit” because he knew his mother did not like him saying things like that. Was there something else he had said that was wrong? She fiddled with the necklace she wore, her fingers rubbing against the metallic cross.

“Alastor dear…” His mother’s words were sickeningly sweet. “What we do is all for your sake. Those children in your class are not disciplined correctly, so they’ll pay the price for it later in life. We do this because we love you.”

Alastor nodded in understanding. Of course, it was for his own good. His parents would never do anything that would hurt him in the long run! The other kids would not succeed because their parents didn’t discipline them correctly. But his parents were different. They would only do something if it helped him. It was just a different parenting style.

His mother must have seen his understanding on his face because her smile steadied. She ruffled his hair affectionately. Alastor smiled up at her, feeling lucky to have such good parents that prepared him for the future.

After that, he went to school with confidence. Every time he heard someone complain about their parents, he laughed to himself. They just couldn’t understand that things were for their own good. He would be prepared for the future while his classmates fumbled as soon as they were on their own. He began to see his peers as inferior. He was clearly superior to the others because he was the only one who was truly prepared for the future. Keeping that philosophy close to his chest, Alastor took all his punishments in stride.

When his father came back drunk and began to discipline him with his cane, Alastor kept his grin on his face, digging his nails into his hand. He willed himself not to cry, reminding himself that he was being punished and that it would help him in the future. He smiled through his punishments and knew that it was all for his own good.

**New Orleans, Louisiana - 1925**

Alastor had become a radio host of a local radio station in his early 20s. He was fresh out of school when he saw the position available. He took it as quickly as he possibly could. He wanted to become someone who would never suspect when a crime happened. He broadcasted about a certain “Bayou Killer” that only seemed to target perpetrators of child-related crimes.

He realized in his teens that his parents were wrong. No one deserved to be treated like an animal, especially not an impressionable child. He had choked his own father with his bare hands one day when he was only 17. His father was in a drunken state and could not fight back. His mother had gone somewhere for the day, so Alastor waited until his father was too drunk to even formulate words. He waited until his father had passed out from the intoxication. He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking as he saw his father’s neck.

He had gone up to his father, gently placing his hands around the neck. When there was no reaction, Alastor felt a sadistic grin crawl onto his face. He tightened his grasp around the neck, watching with sick pleasure as the man under him began to claw at his hands. The man’s hands grappled at Alastor’s hands, trying to pry them off. Alastor squeezed tighter, watching the man’s face become a pale blue. A few minutes later, the man went from erratic movements to limp.

Alastor let go of the corpse, putting a finger under its nose to check for breathing and placing two fingers against different areas on the body to check for a pulse. After making sure that the body that used to be his father was truly dead, Alastor picked the body up, planning on how to hide it.

He hid the body well, burying it in the forest near his house. His mother had come back from her outing and asked him where his father was. Alastor kept his smile on his face and told her that he hadn’t come home yet. After a week went by, Alastor’s mother assumed that her husband had left them. She wasn’t particularly distressed, instead in a better mood than she usually was. She developed a drinking problem, almost always coming home drunk.

He had endured her punishments, even though they were never about something he himself had done. Sometimes she came home drunk and used the same cane on him that his father did. She claimed that it was for his own good, but Alastor knew better now. He took the punishments without complaint, bottling his rage up.

Once he got the job at the radio station, he changed his accent to become more understandable. He reported on the “Bayou Killer,” not giving too much information but saying just enough to stay under the radar of the police. He continued to keep in contact with his mother because once he became a radio host, the yelling stopped. After he had taken up the job, his mother praised him more often, telling him that he would go places farther than she could have ever imagined. He had always preferred his mother over his father anyway.

His mother became much kinder to him, so he spared her. He was always something of a mama’s boy ever since he was young. But the punishments from his childhood stuck with him through life. Alastor began carrying a cane with him everywhere he went. Whenever he was especially anxious or nervous, he hit himself on the leg with the cane. When he stumbled over his words at his job, he laughed it off and dug the bottom of the cane into his foot.

He knew it wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism but it was the only one he was completely used to. The cane was always used on him when he made mistakes and that followed him into adulthood. When he was alone in the broadcasting room, he rolled his chair away from the microphone to smack his cane on himself so his audience wouldn’t hear any noise. When guests were invited to come and talk, Alastor harshly hit his calves. If anyone noticed or asked him any questions about it, Alastor played it off as an accident.

If his mother saw the bruises on him, she didn’t say anything. She stayed silent, probably for his sake, and continued on as if she didn’t see anything. She may not have done anything to him in the past few years, but she knew what she did when he was a child. Alastor desperately hoped that his mother had changed for the better, but deep down he knew that she was the exact same as she had always been.

But he disregarded the truth, wanting to live a lie instead. He wasn’t ready to come to terms with the fact that his mother was a horrible parent. He would much rather live in a beautiful lie than face the ugly truth.

By day he was the voice of New Orleans, Louisiana, but by night he became the Bayou Killer. He targeted people who made children’s lives worse to protect those children. He wasn’t proud of what he had to do to get close enough to the victims, but he did it to save the children so they wouldn’t fall victim to horrible crimes.

**New Orleans, Louisiana - 1933**

The Great Depression was in full effect as Alastor’s last days came about. He was in his early thirties but he knew he was going to die soon. When the stock market crashed in 1929, Alastor immediately scrambled to the bank to try and take as much of his money out as he could. Unfortunately, all of his money, as well as everyone else’s, was gone. The banks could not afford to give everyone their money back. Everything became much more expensive thanks to inflation. Thankfully, Alastor wasn’t fired from his job so he had a meager source of income. His mother stayed at home, sometimes going out for odd jobs when they were available. There wasn’t much a woman could do, but thankfully she looked much younger than she actually was.

Years ago, he had only killed people who deserved to die, but now things were different. He killed anyone that he could find and because money was tight, he and his mother ate his victims. The victims were like farm animals; if you gave them a bit of kindness, they would flock to you. All it took was a flirty persona and a bit of leading on. Once that was done, no one could resist him. He didn’t care about gender. All the money he got from his job went directly to keeping the house. After paying the bills, there was barely anything left. The small amount that remained was used to buy ingredients for food, but they could never afford meat.

They were like cattle, Alastor reasoned. These people had no other purpose than to help him survive. Even if he ate one person, there was plenty more to take its place. He was a radio host, a source of hope for people across the state, even nationally. These people that lived in his town were unimportant. He was more important than these other people. They were using up all the resources in town like the gluttons they were. Could they not see that they were wasting precious food? They were using the money that he should have had when he went to the banks 4 years ago.

Regardless, Alastor used the scum in the town to feed himself and his mother. He killed his victims and brought them home for his mother to cook. She made the most wonderful jambalaya on days where he was absolutely exhausted. He liked to wait for his victims to come to him. He knew he had a pretty face that he could take advantage of. His face gathered all sorts of people, gender be damned. He mostly had women come up to him, but with enough convincing, a handful of men went out with him too.

For some reason, people were always more trusting after a romantic relationship was set. Whenever Alastor went out on a date with someone, they always opened up to him. All it took was for him to go on one date with someone before they came up to him and asked for another. Alastor obliged, eager to see the monotonous come to a close so he could have his fun. After about the third or fourth date, Alastor would ask the soon-to-be victim if they wanted to head back to his place. They always agreed, so Alastor made them promise not to tell anyone where they were going. His “dates” agreed to that as well, apparently thinking that the notion was romantic.

They came to his house, thinking that something serious would happen. He killed them with ease, sometimes poisoning them, stabbing them, or even strangling them. He never used guns because if gunpowder got into the ingredients, it might explode. His mother learned that the hard way. One time he shot his victim, but when his mother began to cook, it exploded in her face, almost killing her.

He made a plan to meet with a woman in the park near his house that day. In hindsight, it was probably a terrible idea to agree to meet at a place when he had a feeling of apprehension about it. But money was especially tight then, so Alastor relented. His mother had practically begged him to go, telling him that she hadn’t eaten in days.

When he got to the park, it was dark out, and the woman was nowhere to be seen. She was probably just late, Alastor told himself. She was a bit of a ditz sometimes, so he wouldn’t be surprised. But those minutes turned into half an hour. Alastor began to think that he had messed something up. Had he scared her away by revealing something? He was always careful not to let his true intentions slip. Why had she not shown up?

He started smacking his cane against his leg anxiously. He had messed something up, he thought. Now he would have to go home empty-handed. The smacking got louder and more careless as Alastor’s mind swirled down a hole of self-hatred. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he had failed.

Then he heard someone approaching him. The smacking ceased as Alastor turned to greet whoever was behind him. He turned and, to his surprise, was looking down the barrel of a gun. He froze up like a deer in headlights. He pushed the gun away from his face so it was aimed at the ground. The person was wearing a dark cloak that hid their features.

“I believe you have the wrong person,” Alastor spoke calmly. “Now put the gun away before the authorities are involved.”

“You wouldn’t call them, considering you’re the damned ‘Bayou Killer.’” the person in front of him said quietly. It was an older feminine voice. Interesting. He felt like he had heard the voice before but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Yes, you definitely have the wrong person. How could I be the Bayou Killer if I broadcast about it on the radio?” Alastor responded coolly.

“I know exactly what you’ve done.” the woman aggressively shoved the gun closer to his face. “You’ve killed and eaten people.”

Alastor laughed cynically. Who did this woman think she was? She was just throwing baseless accusations around. Sure she was right, but she had no proof. Who would believe that he, a radio host that broadcasted about the horrors of the Bayou Killer, was a serial killer? His word was much more important than hers.

“And where’s your proof, ma’am?” Alastor asked. “If you so firmly believe that I’m the so-called Bayou Killer, prove it to me.”

The woman laughed bitterly. She whistled lowly, earning a raised eyebrow from Alastor. From the forest behind her, dogs growled and padded to her side. There were about five of them, all surrounding the woman protectively. They growled at him menacingly.

“I know what you’ve done because I’ve seen it.” the woman’s voice grew darker. “You can’t escape now, you demon.”

“If you truly believe that I’m the killer, your mental facilities seem to be slipping.” Alastor narrowed his eyes. He made sure that there were no witnesses but this woman was adamant about the fact that she saw him. The woman barked out a cold laugh.

“Who’s crazy, me or you?” the woman growled. “You’re the psycho here.”

“And who, may I ask, are you?” Alastor asked in a bored tone. He even faked a yawn to enrage her further.

“Annabeth’s mother, you monster!” the woman pulled her hood down to reveal her face. She looked familiar to him.

Alastor stared at her face, trying to figure out who Annabeth was. He thought about it, eyes widening when he realized. Annabeth was the last woman he had killed! How did her mother trace things back to him?

“I heard she passed away two weeks ago. My condolences.” Alastor said insincerely. He remembered her now. She tasted wonderful and lasted him and his mother for about a week and a half.

“You killed her, you bastard!” the woman’s hand shook as she strengthened her resolve. “The only thing she did wrong was fall in love with you.”

The next few moments all happened in slow motion. The woman’s finger tightened around the trigger and pulled. A loud bang resounded in the empty park and Alastor barely had any time to react. He felt a piercing pain in his forehead as he fell. He couldn’t move his body and he felt all of his strength quickly drain. He faintly heard the woman yell something and the dogs all pounced on him.

The dogs bit and clawed at him. They tore at his flesh and Alastor wanted to scream. But he didn’t. He remembered his mother’s words that were engraved in his mind ever since he was a child.  _ “Smile through it all so no one knows that you’re in pain.” _

So he kept the smile on his face, succumbing to his fate. He briefly saw Annabeth’s mother pull a familiar silver cross out of her cloak and held it to her lips, whispering a prayer. Then he lost consciousness.

**Hell - 193?**

Alastor woke up in a chair, vision blurry and in a daze. His memory was fuzzy as well but he could distinctly remember dogs and a gun. He had been killed, hadn’t he? So how was he still alive? He looked around, noticing all of the red and hellish atmosphere. Wait, was he in Hell? Well, it was no surprise, considering what he had done when he was alive. But this Hell looked less… torture-esque than he remembered hearing about. Wasn’t Hell supposed to be some neverending pain and torture for sinners? From what he saw, there were drugs, alcohol, and all sorts of substances that a sinner would enjoy.

He got up, needing to find answers to all of his questions. He examined his surroundings first. So he was in a room with a door leading who-knows-where. He needed to start somewhere so Alastor began to make his way over to the door. When he took a step, he stopped. He was never this tall in life.

He looked down at himself to check. He was now wearing an extravagant amount of red. There was a mirror hung up so Alastor looked at himself in the mirror. He stumbled back in shock. His hair was now red and his eyes looked like radio dials. And were those… antlers? He scrambled to check himself for other deer traits. He raised his overcoat to see a small deer tail.

So since he was shot and killed like prey, he was now a deer demon? As much as he hated it, he could admit that it was an interesting system. Become the thing you hated in life as punishment.

Something flickered in the corner of Alastor’s eye, putting him on edge. Did something just move? He quickly scanned the room for any sign of another person. When he didn’t find anyone else, Alastor’s senses heightened. There was  _ definitely _ someone else here with him. But where?

Then he caught a flash of a dark entity shifting across the floor. Alastor took a step back in caution, watching as the creature morph into a shadow-like creature. It was a mirror image of his new demon form. It stared at him, as if waiting for Alastor to do or say something.

“What are you?” Alastor asked cautiously. It slithered dangerously, awaiting a command. The shadow crawled onto the wall and watched him silently.

_ … you… _

Alastor stared at the shadow in confusion. Did it just attempt to speak to him? His head began to hurt from the strain of communication in his mind. It was a lot to wrap his mind around. He was in Hell in a completely different form and there was now a shadow watching him.

  
  


_ … you and I… same… _

So was this shadow creature his own shadow? It was Hell so anything was possible. If he could become some sort of deer demon, then maybe it was possible for his shadow to have a mind of its own.

He allowed the shadow to speak to him but continued to stay guarded. If shadows could think for themselves, then there were likely other people who imitated them as well. Alastor watched the shadow slide over to him, turning his head to the side when it stopped directly behind him.

_ … you have great power… strange for a human… _

It was clearly going to take a little longer for the shadow to be able to speak without interruption. But what caught Alastor’s attention the most was that he had an abnormal amount of power. Did it have something to do with the way he lived his life?

Alastor stepped forward, watching the shadow follow him with interest. Was the shadow now bound to him? If he had a surplus of power and a shadow under his control, what could he accomplish? He neared the door, keeping an eye on the pesky shadow. It followed him silently, trailing behind him as Alastor walked out of the room.

When he was out into the vast land of Hell, he was taken aback by how many demons were there. Were there  _ that _ many people who were sinners? His early victims would definitely be in Hell with him since he only used to kill those that deserved it. Would they try to attack him for revenge or would they be meek rabbits as they were in life?

Alastor’s hand twitched at the thought. How satisfying would it be to kill them for a second time? To watch them plead for mercy again? Relish in their screams of pain? Alastor’s grin widened at the thought. And there were definitely more people who deserved a pain far greater than death here in the depths of Hell.

People like… his father. A shiver ran down his spine. His father would most definitely be down here with him. Unlike in life, Alastor wasn’t sure if demons could die in Hell. In life, everyone’s life was fragile and could easily be cut short. But down in Hell, could demons even die?

Alastor’s fingers twitched. He needed his cane. He needed the cane  **_now_ ** . He dug his nails into the palms of his hands. His shadow watched him curiously. Alastor felt the shadow crawl onto his skin. He turned his head to look at it, disturbed by how closely it was staring at his hand.

_ … show… me… _

Alastor looked at the shadow, ready to ask questions, but the determined look on the shadow’s face stopped him. What harm would come of showing it his hand? He unfurled his hand, holding it palm-side up. He looked down at it in horror. His hand was bleeding from the force he was exerting. The shadow’s grin seemed to widen at that sight. It seeped off of him, keeping its distance from Alastor.

_ … perfect… now we wait… it will come… _

It? What was “it?” Alastor stepped back, closing his hand again. Had the shadow laid a trap for him?

“What’s coming?” Alastor turned to his shadow, glaring at it.

_ … it will not harm you… unless you want it too… _

The last phrase was said in an almost mocking tone. Did it know about his habits in life? He waited nonetheless, watching his shadow out of the corner of his eye. A few moments passed before there was a puff of red smoke.

After the smoke cleared, Alastor saw a shorter demon standing in front of him. It stood at about his chest level so it grinned up at him.

“That was your blood, right?” The demon bounced on its heels. “You’ve got potential, ayup.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow at its strange way of speaking. Was it some sort of slang he hadn’t heard before? He stared at it in confusion, listening to the quiet mocking laugh of the shadow.

“You just dropped down here, yeah?” The demon circled around Alastor like a shark. Fed up, he grabbed the smaller demon by the back of its shirt, halting its movement.

“What are you and how do you know of me?” Alastor demanded. He lifted the demon up to eye level. It grinned at him earnestly.

“You could say I’m a bit of a power enthusiast.” The demon laughed. “And you’ve got plenty to spare, mhmm.”

“So what do you want from  _ me _ ?” Alastor murmured lowly.

“Ah, an eager one! Haven’t had one of those in a while.” The demon swung its short legs back and forth childishly. “All I ask for is a fair trade. A share of your power for something that you want most.”

“Something I want the most?” Alastor repeated. Something he wanted? Well, there was only one thing that he truly wanted for comfort.

“Mhmm, yep! I look into your soul and see what you want the most right now. I give it to you in exchange for a portion of your power. You have plenty to spare anyway.” The smaller demon wiggled out of Alastor’s grasp, landing on the ground on its feet.

“And if I don’t accept? What happens then?” Alastor continued to ask.

“You can’t escape from it! I’ll keep comin’ back! And the deal’s only gonna get worse for you. Better for you if you just accept now, ayup.” The demon nodded to itself.

Alastor looked back at the shadow. It grinned at him, not making any effort to comfort him. It simply smiled, watching the demon and Alastor.

“So the deal, as of now, is that you get a portion of my power in exchange for something I need.” Alastor stated. “What is the portion then?”

“Ah, nothin’ gets by you.” The demon rocked back and forth on its feet. “A mere 10% should be enough for me.”

“And how much is that?” Alastor asked. He had no idea if that was a lot or a little. He hadn’t done anything yet. Was 10% too much? Or was it reasonable? Then again, it was Hell. He remembered his neighborhood always saying,  _ Don’t deal with the devil _ .

As he pondered his choices, the shadow came back, resting on his shoulder.

_ … take it… they normally ask for much more… accept the deal… _

He was suspicious of both the shadow and the demon, but they were the only ones he knew. If he denied the offer, the demon would come back with an even worse deal. Would it ask for more power? Would it drop the exchange and simply demand power? The demon seemed to know what was happening because it spoke again.

“You’re overthinkin’ it. I can tell. You’re not the only one who does. Everyone I offer overthinks it. But there’s nothin’ to overthink. You either get a solid deal or you miss out and lose it all in the long run. Now you don’t seem like a gambler. I got a good feelin’ about you.” The demon extended its hand. “If we got a deal, we’ll shake on it.”

If he only gave 10% of his power away, he’d still have 90% left. With that 90%, he could easily overpower the smaller demon and coerce it to return the 10%. He nodded. Yes, that could work. Alastor put his hand out as well.

“It’s a deal.” Alastor sealed the deal by grabbing the shorter demon’s hand and shaking it. It grinned up at him with childish glee evident in its eyes. Its eyes stared into Alastor’s, as if looking for something in his soul.

“We’re gonna make it big, you and I.” The demon said enthusiastically. There was a puff of red smoke again, forcing Alastor’s eyes to close. He was still holding something in his hand, he noticed. After the smoke cleared, Alastor opened his eyes.

In his hand was a red staff with a microphone at the top.

Alastor tapped it a few times with his index finger. It crackled to life and a voice broadcasted from it.

“A microphone with a staff, huh? An interesting choice.” The smaller demon’s voice spoke from the microphone. Alastor stared at it in confusion. “Confused? Well I’m the microphone now! Now me and that shadow of yours are bound to you. Excited?”

Alastor looked at the shadow, which was now curling around the microphone. It grinned down at the staff, looking up at him sadistically.

“Yes, I believe I am excited.” Alastor said dryly.

“Perfect! Now go on and build yourself an empire. Territory ‘round here is your fruit to gather.” The microphone said playfully. “Wreak some havoc. Who knows? You might find some people that you recognize down here.”

Alastor then realized that he had been grinning the entire time ever since he had dropped into Hell. He noticed that he had to make a conscious effort to pull the smile off of his face. He had a permanent smile on his face now? It made things easier for him, he supposed.

He took a step forward, relishing in the power he felt as his shadow followed him. The shadow trailed behind him and the microphone stayed silent, save for the radio buzz. He allowed the microphone to guide him to an open area.

“Y’know what this is?” The microphone asked him. “It’s empty land that hasn’t been used yet. Pretty sure Sir Pentious owns it.”

“Sir Pentious?” Alastor echoed. What kind of a name was that?

“Oh it’s another demon ‘round here. Wouldn’t call him an overlord but he’s got science.” The microphone demon explained. “He doesn’t use this area much. If you get enough control over your power, you could easily take over and start building up some territory of your own.”

“Is there any way I can get access to more power?” Alastor was quick on the uptake. If there was a way to be less vulnerable, he would jump at it.

“It’s a universal thing, but if you bleed, your power’ll multiply for a bit.” The microphone said vaguely. “The blood’ll add a little somethin’ to whatever you’re doin’.”

“And how would I go about controlling power?” Alastor was quickly gaining interest in the empirical nature of Hell.

_ … you have much to learn… but we have time… _

Yes, he had plenty of time. Once he had control over his power, he could start getting involved in the turf wars and gaining more power. Maybe Hell wasn’t so bad. Alastor’s hand twitched in anticipation. Now he had a coping mechanism  _ and _ an outlet. He was definitely going to enjoy himself.

**Hell - 201?**

Although he had no idea how much time had passed, Alastor knew it had been almost a century. Newer pieces of technology were starting to make their appearance. Bright colorful lights were taking prominence and loud music was being played constantly.

He had become an overlord in the past few decades using the power he had had from the beginning. He held a position of power so others feared him. He even had the begrudging respect of Lucifer himself.

So why had his… habit continued? Shouldn’t he be over it by now? He had all the power that he could ever want, so why was he still compelled to use the cane on himself? He had the bruises on his legs to prove any sort of accusations that could have been thrown in his direction had anyone cared enough.

He was walking past a technology store when he saw a group of demons crowding around the televisions. Had something happened? He looked over at what the group was looking at and quickly recognized the princess of Hell. She seemed to be advertising her new hotel idea and… breaking out into song? He snickered to himself along with the rest of the group.

When she had finished her song, she continued to talk about her hotel and how she had a client. Said client turned out to be Angel Dust, number one pornstar in Hell. She boasted about how he had not been involved in any trouble, but the news anchors quickly broadcasted a turf war where the pornstar was fighting alongside another demon named Cherri Bomb.

After watching the princess crash and burn on live television, Alastor walked away from the store. Maybe he would pay that hotel a little visit to see how moral was doing. The princess must have been devastated from her embarrassing little stint, so he might be able to make a deal today.

~~~~~

Alastor had arrived at the hotel and got about as warm a welcome as he expected to get. The princess’ girlfriend loathed his entire existence and the pornstar had propositioned him. But the best part of it was that he got a better deal than he could’ve asked for. The princess had shot down the deal but ordered him to help for as long as he wanted. So even if they wanted nothing to do with him, Alastor could still stay under the pretense of wanting to stay.

He laughed at the princess’ stupidity. This had worked out far better than he could’ve reached for. Now Alastor was free to cause as much chaos as he wanted. Just to drill home the fact that he was an overlord, he had brought Husk and Niffty to work at the hotel as well. He forced them into the jobs, Niffty being quite excited to see new demons.

Surprisingly, the spider pornstar had no idea who he was. Everyone else who had known him had begrudging respect or fear, but this spider talked to him like an equal. It was slightly refreshing to have someone that wasn’t afraid to speak their mind. The princess’ girlfriend was plenty aggressive, but she never dared to cross any lines. The spider had caught his interest after a while.

When Sir Pentious had shown up at the hotel, Alastor had all but killed him. Digging his nails into his palms to make himself bleed to boost his power, he had torn the blimp apart and barely left the snake demon with life. Basking in the fear on the other demons’ faces, he led them back into the hotel. The fear kept them away for a while, but eventually Angel came back.

He allowed Angel to approach him when he wasn’t busy, warming up to the notion of being entertained while working. The other demon had toned down on the sexual remarks after quickly realizing that he had no interest in sex. Once their differences were put aside, Alastor found that Angel was quite the interesting character.

And what surprised him the most was that his shadow left him alone when he was with the hotel members. The shadow normally made itself known during a conversation, whispering things to him. But when he was holding a conversation with any of the hotel’s employees, it seemed to stay back. It allowed him to speak without it interrupting his thoughts.

Because of this, Alastor found himself staying at the hotel more often. Though Charlie’s overenthusiastic personality irked him, he preferred annoyance over intrusive thoughts. His microphone, though normally quiet, was on its best behavior when the hotel’s residents were around.

But unfortunately, he was still an overlord with work to do. When he wasn’t at the hotel, he was at his radio tower overseeing various dealings and territory fights. The occasional run-in with other overlords like Valentino and Vox had him putting his microphone to use. When they came for “negotiations,” he chalked up the increased smacking of his cane to him resisting the urge to hit them.

Of course, his shadow knew better, whispering the real reason why he smacked his microphone against his leg. It picked up on his anxiety when there were multiple people of power in the same room. Alastor cursed his deer instincts and the shadow as he kept his smile plastered to his face.

“You’re hitting yourself real hard there.” Valentino commented once. Vox had accompanied him as well to the radio demon’s tower. “Any reason you wanna share?”

“Would you rather me beat the life out of you both?” Alastor’s smile tightened from the pain, but the other overlords took it as him losing his temper.

“You think you can take both of us on?” Vox laughed. “C’mon. Give it your best shot.”

“I hear televisions are not very durable. Are we testing that theory?” Alastor quipped.

Vox had grumbled something about radios being useless in response but fell silent nonetheless. The negotiations had continued on, but the other two overlords began to pay more attention to his movements and microphone. He would have to be more careful with himself during these meetings.

But regardless, the hotel gave him comfort. It might have been because of its reformation qualities, but Alastor knew that his shadow didn’t like being there. If it was helping someone as far gone as him, maybe it had a chance at rehabilitating other demons. For the first time since he got dropped into Hell, Alastor had hope. Hope for a better future. Maybe it could help him get past his own issues.

**Hell - 202?**

Many years later, he watched the hotel grow. More and more demons were coming to the hotel for rehabilitation after the first demon was allowed into Heaven. He had heard that the exterminations may stop after a few years since so many demons were flooding into Heaven. Charlie and Vaggie had officially been wed a few months ago and were happily living together. They handled the hotel together and were much more open to each other’s suggestions. The entirety of the employees had warmed up to each other. Vaggie had gotten used to Alastor’s presence, no longer antagonizing him with malicious intent.

Husk and Niffty still worked at the hotel, but the cat demon was content there. At first, he was against the idea of working at a place where drinking wasn’t allowed. But after getting to know Charlie and Vaggie, he stopped complaining and eventually got used to his new life. As for Angel, he had not yet been rehabilitated, but he was doing much better. He barely did drugs anymore and cut down on his drinking. He still worked for Valentino, but that didn’t affect his sin. He no longer went out for fights unless he got really upset or angry as well.

Alastor noticed himself resorting to his microphone far less often. Before the hotel, he reached for it a few times a month. Now he almost only used it for his broadcasting. His bruises were healing well, almost disappearing completely. The newer ones were still visible, but they hurt far less since he didn’t irritate them with more hits.

Now that he had seen redemption was possible, Alastor no longer wanted the hotel to fail. He broadcasted about the hotel and even went out of his way to help it grow. His own self-destructive habits had begun to die down, but they sometimes popped up during times of great stress.

When he was extremely tempted to hurt himself, he sought out Husk and Angel for a conversation and some drinks. 

_ You wanted the microphone with a cane… Why do you not use it? _

The shadow bothered him on those days. But when he took a seat with Husk and Angel, it fell silent. The feline demon knew of Alastor’s issue, so he didn’t question the late night meet-up. Angel knew about his sexual orientation so he never got the wrong idea, though he always joked about it.

He wasn’t magically all better. This wasn’t a fairy tale. But he knew progress when he saw it. Husk had also commented on the lack of bruises when they were alone. He had Husk and Niffty’s full support, even if the shorter demon had no idea. He also had Charlie’s support and, by extension, Vaggie’s. He had once spoken about his self-harm with Angel, who was more understanding than he expected.

So one day when Alastor had begun to reevaluate his priorities, it wasn’t much of a surprise when his microphone spoke.

“When you first dropped down ‘ere,” the microphone demon started. “you wanted something that made you look powerful but also fulfilled the need to hurt yourself.”

“Yes, what about it?” Alastor glanced down at the staff in his hand.

“I promised you that I’d be whatever you wanted the most. That’s changed now, so I’m gonna have to change myself up too!” The microphone began to shake.

Alastor let go of it, staring at it. It shrank in height, but kept its shape the same. When Alastor held it again, its height was substantially different. Now he could not hit his legs without being obvious.

“Now you only want something to symbolize your power. You don’t need something to hurt yourself with anymore.” The microphone said, its tone almost proud.

“I don’t, do I?” Alastor repeated. He really didn’t need the staff to hit himself with anymore. He still fell victim to the days where he wanted to cause himself pain, but now he had a healthier coping mechanism. He had… friends now. He had people to talk to.

  
He no longer had to hold his upbringing’s unhealthy habits. There was still a lot of his past he had to undo, but he now had the confidence that he could get through it. Although redemption was probably something he would never achieve because of what he had done in life and death, there was still a chance for him to get better. Maybe one day even  _ he _ would get redeemed.


	2. Alternate Ending: Not to Be Taken Seriously

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was held at gunpoint to add this. Instead of the microphone getting smaller, it turns into a dildo.

“I promised you that I’d be whatever you wanted the most. That’s changed now, so I’m gonna have to change myself up too!” The microphone began to shake.

Alastor let go of it, staring at it. In a puff of red smoke, Alastor had to shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw a large red dildo on the ground. He stared at the phallic object in horror. When had he ever even considered sex?

"You need a different stress reliever now that the staff is gone so I went ahead and became this! You like?" the shapeshifting demon laughed. As if it wasn't bad enough, Alastor's shadow slithered onto his shoulder.

_Make use of this... These types of demons know best..._

Alastor looked back at the dildo on the ground. He didn't dare touch it. But maybe Angel would like it? It was technically associated with him and the spider demon had said multiple times that he was sexually interested. Well, at least now Alastor had a Christmas/birthday present for Angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret nothing and everything. Blame Peanut for this.

**Author's Note:**

> Literally wild shit. Been having this as a WIP since January. Got my act together and finally finished it. Thanks to Peanut for making me want to finish this. Because of your support, this fic is for you.
> 
> Leave kudos and comments to make my day! I crave that sexy validation.


End file.
